‘Never mind,' said the queen; ‘my son seems to have eaten some of
her pastry. It is the whim of a sick man, no doubt; but send at
once and let her bake a cake.'

The attendant bowed and ordered a page to ride with the message.

Now it is by no means certain that ‘Donkey Skin' had not caught a
glimpse of the prince, either when his eyes looked through the
keyhole, or else from her little window, which was over the road.
But whether she had actually seen him or only heard him spoken
of, directly she received the queen's command, she flung off the
dirty skin, washed herself from head to foot, and put on a skirt
and bodice of shining silver. Then, locking herself into her
room, she took the richest cream, the finest flour, and the
freshest eggs on the farm, and set about making her cake.

As she was stirring the mixture in the saucepan a ring that she
sometimes wore in secret slipped from her finger and fell into
the dough. Perhaps ‘Donkey Skin' saw it, or perhaps she did not;
but, any way, she went on stirring, and soon the cake was ready
to be put in the oven. When it was nice and brown she took off
her dress and put on her dirty skin, and gave the cake to the
page, asking at the same time for news of the prince. But the
page turned his head aside, and would not even condescend to
answer.

The page rode like the wind, and as soon as he arrived at the
palace he snatched up a silver tray and hastened to present the
cake to the prince. The sick man began to eat it so fast that the
doctors thought he would choke; and, indeed, he very nearly did,